


overshadowed

by picture_it_soft



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, POV Catra (She-Ra), Post-Canon, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, [slaps roof of catra] this catgirl can fit so much trauma in her, tagged catradora but it's not SUPER relationship focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picture_it_soft/pseuds/picture_it_soft
Summary: “It’s like Shadow Weaver sacrificed herself just to fuck with my head.” Catra pauses, voice cracking. “But I know she didn’t care about me enough for that.”(After the war, they hold a funeral for Shadow Weaver. Catra reflects.)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	overshadowed

Once the war is won (Horde Prime’s ship bursting into a three-tiered forest, the grass and the _magic_ swelling from Adora’s feet and out into the world), they pick up the pieces.

Catra still checks her eyes for hints of green in any reflective surface she passes. Adora teases her about it at first, laughing about how Catra’s hair looks _fine_ , how she doesn’t have to be so _vain_. But as Catra pushes down the deep, bitter core of meanness that still resides at the heart of her, tail puffing up in warning, Adora quiets down and takes her hand. Adora kisses her knuckles, and Catra blushes warm. 

But even now, when Adora’s rambling about something underneath their brand-new stars as she runs her fingers through Catra’s hair, something warns Catra: she cannot keep this. A voice that sounds like Shadow Weaver still echoes, telling her that she’s holding Adora back. _But_ , Catra argues back, _Adora wants to be held back_ . Shadow Weaver whispers, again: _let her go_. 

Catra sits bolt upright. 

“So Shadow Weaver–” The hand in Catra’s hair stills as Adora breaks off her sentence. “Catra?”

“Shadow Weaver?” There’s an edge to Catra’s voice. She uses all of her willpower to file it down. “What about her?” 

“I was just thinking,” says Adora, awkward, “that we should hold a funeral for her.” 

_She’s the reason we’re still alive_ , Adora doesn’t say, but Catra hears it, all the same. Adora, despite the war, still sees the world in such black-and-white terms. Catra learned as a child to flit between the shades of gray, watching pristine Adora leave her behind. Of course this is the arithmetic Adora comes to. Shadow Weaver sacrificed herself. Shadow Weaver is a hero. 

Catra tries not to snarl. “Hm,” she says, noncommittal. She leans back into Adora, shoulders still tense. 

Adora squeezes her hand and says quietly, “Just think about it. No pressure.”

  
***

They hold the funeral at Mystacor. Catra almost makes it there. 

Instead, she slinks through the halls with Meelog, enveloped in an invisibility illusion. By sheer chance, she passes by the right room, packed with “mourners.”

A silvery voice floats through the door as she walks by. “Before she was Shadow Weaver, she was Light Spinner, and in the end, she helped bring magic back to Etheria.”

Catra sinks to the floor. Meelog grumbles something next to her.

And suddenly, the door’s opening and someone is stumbling out, scowling like Catra scowls, muttering “ _Light Spinner_ ” with a level of disdain that took Catra months to perfect back at the Fright Zone.

Castaspella trips over Catra’s invisible foot and swears gloriously. Her eyes clear when she sees Catra sprawled across the floor, Meelog having darted away. Cooing at Meelog, she pulls Catra to her feet. “Not going inside?” she asks.

Catra laughs, but something catches in her throat. “No,” she says, but it sounds like a question.

“No?” Casta repeats back, arching an eyebrow.

She begins to walk. No, she _sweeps_ , waltzing down the hall and expecting Catra to follow. 

Ugh. Princesses.

Catra slides into step with her. “So,” she says, scrabbling for some ground, some sort of power, something to exploit. She’s not in the Horde anymore, but old habits die hard. She finds the pressure point and presses down. “Why’d you run out mid-funeral?”

Castaspella brushes it off, easy. “Because I was tired of celebrating her.” They’ve reached the statues of the great sorcerers, and they stop, staring at the sculpture of Light Spinner, of Shadow Weaver. “She always liked Micah best,” Casta continues, staring unblinkingly at the statue, “which is a dumb thing to focus on now, but–”

“I get it,” Catra says. It’s easier, somehow, to let the words burst from her chest when she’s also staring at the statue, waiting for it to say something back. “She always did like to play favorites.”

“It doesn’t go away,” Casta says, “the doubt in yourself, the seeds of envy that she puts there and forces to grow.”

At her words an image comes to Catra: herself, full of seeds and root systems until _pop_ , she bursts into trees like Horde Prime’s ship, choking on undergrowth. She fights the urge to run.

Instead, she closes her eyes. “You know she was in charge of raising me and Adora?” she asks the statue. “She liked to remind me that Adora was rescued from a far-off land, that she was destined for something. And that I was found in the Horde’s backyard,” here she snarls, opening her eyes, “a weed that Hordak didn’t care about enough to uproot.”

“Bitch,” Castaspella summarizes, eloquently. 

That startles a laugh out of Catra. “Right?” she giggles. “And now, she’s some kind of _rebellion hero_ because she sacrificed herself to get Adora to the heart?”

She sees it again, suddenly. Shadow Weaver tiny and glowing under that giant monster, Catra pounding on the door screaming her name. The cracked mask falling to the ground. Her smile fades. 

“She saved me.” Her voice is hollow. “I know she did it for Adora, but now it’s like I’m supposed to be grateful to the person who treated me like garbage for my entire life.”

Castaspella reaches for Catra’s arm and gives it a comforting squeeze. “One good thing doesn’t cancel out the harm she caused. You’re allowed to be conflicted about her.”

For a second, Catra thinks: this is what it would be like to have a mother. A hand on her shoulder, a voice saying _you’re allowed, you’re allowed, you’re allowed_.

“It’s like she sacrificed herself as one last _screw you_ to me, just to fuck with my head.” Catra pauses, voice cracking. “But I know she didn’t care about me enough for that.” 

She gulps, but the words come out anyway. “I hate her.” The admission is quiet and magic hums in the air. Catra waits for someone to fly down and slap her for speaking ill of the dead.

Instead, Castaspella moves towards her, slowly folding her into a hug. She whispers, “It’s okay if you do.”

Catra buries her face in Casta’s shoulder, and all the sobs she’s been holding in burst out, all at once. She cries for Shadow Weaver, for the mother she never had. She cries angry, for the voice that still won’t leave her head and for the young Catra who heard everything Shadow Weaver said to and stored it between her ribs, a deadly slow poison. She cries, and Casta holds her. 

  
***  
  


They walk back as the funeral ends and princesses burst out into the halls. Catra dries her eyes on her sleeve, searching for Adora in the crowd. And there she is, eyes soft, hair poof intact. She runs to Catra. 

“You didn’t come in,” she says, eyes darting between Catra and Castaspella. A furrow deepens between her eyebrows at Catra’s red eyes. “Did you want to go,” she trails off, “say goodbye to her?”

“No,” Catra says. It’s not a question. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

Adora wipes a stray tear off Catra’s cheek with her thumb, her hand cool on Catra’s face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Catra says, voice steady. “Let’s get out of here.” She shoots Castaspella a smile over her shoulder and lets Adora grab her hand.

***

That night, they do a different ceremony, just the two of them.

How Adora managed to steal Shadow Weaver’s broken mask is a mystery to Catra, but as soon as they’re out of Mystacor, a smile spreads across her face. She holds it out to Catra.

Catra wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want it,” she says.

Adora huffs out a laugh. “No kidding,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I thought we could burn it or smash it up or something. She’d hate that.”

“Babe,” Catra coos, the faux-sappy smile on her face melting into a real, blinding grin, “you plan the sweetest dates.” 

They burn the mask.

As the flames envelop it, Adora reaches for her, face golden in the firelight. “The funeral,” she said, “it was never about making her a hero.”

Catra hums.

“She did one good thing for us, right?” Adora’s unsure and shifting in place, like Catra’s going to be _angry_ at her or something. “I just,” she stammers, “I wanted to do one last thing for her.”

More than anything, Catra’s lazy, basking in the warmth of the fire, but she replies, “Why? We don’t owe her anything.”

“She wasn’t a parent to us,” Adora says. “She hurt you so much.” 

Adora’s eyes are molten, angry on Catra’s behalf, and that makes the memories fade, just a little. The remembered insults carry a touch less sting. 

“But,” Adora breathes into Catra’s cheek, “that one time, she helped you get back to me.”

Catra leans into Adora, a purr rumbling deep in her chest. She closes her eyes, and for now, Shadow Weaver’s voice doesn’t tell her to stop.

The mask goes up in smoke as it burns, reaching toward the stars.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> honestly i'm not the biggest she-ra fan but i finished the show yesterday and it bothered me so much how catra and shadow weaver's relationship was "resolved" in the series finale because even THROUGH s5, shadow weaver was continuing her pattern of emotional abuse with catra. so I just wanted to explore how catra would feel about shadow weaver's sacrifice in the aftermath. and i set her with castaspella because you see a similar dynamic (though not to the same extent) between casta and shadow weaver.


End file.
